


The Smoking Gun

by ashtopop



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: F/M, Light BDSM, Light Dom/sub, Smokey Percy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-20
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-09-18 18:25:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9397499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashtopop/pseuds/ashtopop
Summary: He leaves shadowed trails where his fingers touch, fragments of smoke like magma, sliding into each contour of her body, settling into hollows and dips and overflowing to the next. Like a cloud rolling over mountaintops the smoke envelops her skin.





	

She lounges back against the pillows, hair fanning across the silk. A shaft of moonlight spills through the closed window, striking her skin. She arches slightly, stark naked and inviting. He wishes he had her eyesight, the deepest black of full night fading to grays, but he knows—and he can _imagine_ how she looks like this—pupils blown wide and lips parted, a flush creeping across her cheeks and the tips of her ears. Percy’s fingers itch to capture the chiaroscuro play on her skin in charcoal, and to mark her with the sooty fingerprints of a greedy artist.

Smoke licks up her spine and she shudders. She raises her arms, skin shifting in the moonlight. Her reaction is all he needs, but she puts herself on display for him anyway, her breasts pushed slightly forward, her knees barely touching. A tendril of smoke snakes around her ankle, pinning it to the bed, and her mouth curls into a smile. Vex’ahlia knows his scars like the forests she treads so easily, but the smoke is different, somehow. The smoke is an inky darkness on his soul, one he will never be clean of, and yet she still doesn’t turn away.

"Tell me your word, Vex'ahlia," he says as he stalks toward the bed, eyes intent on her. As he does, the shadows in the room seem to grow longer, stretching toward him.

"Dagger," she whispers, rolling her hips against the flare of arousal within her.

"And do you want to use it?" He asks, leaning over her. She runs a hand up his bare chest, eyes sliding closed, breathing him in. She can smell black powder on his skin, electric energy in the air... but, beneath that, Percy. Always Percy.

"Not yet,” she breathes.

“Don’t forget it, darling.” he presses a kiss to her collarbone. She may forget her name, but she won’t forget that. He pushes his glasses up into his hair, pushing white strands away as he kisses a trail down her chest. He presses a kiss to her sternum and palms her breasts, weighing them in his hands. He tweaks a nipple as another strand of darkness slides around her ankle, then follows with his mouth. His tongue swirls around one as his fingers pluck at the other. She buries her hands in his hair, fingers raking through silky strands.

He looks up, his head still in her hands, and spins a tendril of smoke from his tongue over his knuckles, wrapping it around his finger and then her wrist. The smoke is tangible, tactile, with no beginning or end—smooth like blown glass and hot like a candle over flame. It pulses in time with Percy’s heartbeat and drags Vex’s hand up the sheets, securing it amidst the cold pillows. She rolls against him, seeking friction to slake the ache inside her, and she can feel the smirk against her skin as he continues lower.

He leaves shadowed trails where his fingers touch, fragments of smoke like magma, sliding into each contour of her body, settling into hollows and dips and overflowing to the next. Like a cloud rolling over mountaintops the smoke envelops her skin. She feels like she’s burning in his atmosphere and the sentiment comes out as his name in a moan. One tugs her hand up the sheets, holding her last free limb in place. She pulls against them, testing the strength of her bonds—Percy’s manifested will unyielding against her.

She looks down at him kissing a path between her raised hipbones and flexes against his hands, callused palms covering her skin. As he runs them down her hips and thighs he pulls her legs open, eyes locked on hers. His thumbs follow the crease of her thighs, following her pelvic bone and scooting up under her ass, settling in a firm grip that lifts her center to him. She can’t help but arch her back further, his every inhale and exhale a delicate prickle of wind.

Her breath hitches in a gasp as she watches him bring his lips to her, eyes on hers all the time. She’s wet already, and his hands on either side have her spread wide for him. He flicks his tongue toward her clit and the small swipe of pleasure makes her breath catch in her throat. Heat radiates from her skin and he traces the length of her slit with his thumb.

He brushes the flat of his tongue against the seam of her and, Gods, she knows he loves this as much as she does when he looks at her like a feast, slick for him and skin glistening with a sheen of moisture. She gasps as he licks up her, pressing the tip of his tongue to her. The touch is maddeningly light and her thighs ache to wrap around his head, muscles straining against the smoke bonds.

He’s careful not to spend too much time on one spot; instead keeping his movements light and varied, only giving in to her pleas for more pressure when she starts grinding against him. Then, he moves to suck on her clit, the tangle of desire sinking to her spine and the walls of her cunt clenching in vain.

With enough force to knock the air out of her lungs, he shoves his tongue into her until his jaw aches, her head falling back against the pillows and fists clenching in their restraints. His long nose bumps against her clit with every movement, sending her into a spiral—the beginnings of orgasm tap dancing over her nerves.

His tongue inside her, he feels the first clench of her muscles around him, tightening with impending orgasm as the siren’s song of lust skitters through her nerves. Percy presses his thumb against her clit and curls his tongue inside her, pressing as deep as he can. She keens, hips pressing hard back against his hand, grinding desperately into his mouth.

He follows when she arches off the bed, her fists balled as her entire body thrums with a heady orgasm. He pulls away as she comes down from the high, watching her pant, each exhale lifting strands of hair away from her damp face. She hummed as he rubbed the back of his hand over his mouth, licking his lips and leaning down over her.

Their lips met, and she can taste the tang of her own arousal on his tongue. She smiles against his lips.

“How are you doing, dear?” he asks, a shared breath away from kissing her again. She feels the urge to ruffle his hair and push his glasses back up his nose, but her hands are still restrained—dark licks of black smoke holding them in place.

“I’m lovely, darling,” she purrs, letting her head rest back on the sheets and enjoying the afterglow.

“Need anything?” Her eyes open lazily, and she traces a path from the moisture still gathered on his chin down his shirt to the obvious bulge in his pants.

“Just you,” she whispers. He grins and bites off another tendril of smoke, swirling it around his fingers and letting it trace down her abdomen.

The tendril teases down her folds, swollen and wet from her previous climax, circling her clit once, twice, and returning to press into her. It’s a slow drag, the false weight of the smoke tendril filling every part of her. Percy pours more of the smoke into her and she gasps as it takes her. She's filled by nothing but Percy’s magic and yet she feels so _full._

Once the tendril bottoms out, it begins a steady rhythm in and out of her, pressing against all the places she loves best. On every inward stroke the tendril leading back to him widens a fraction, a ring of raised smoke curling up the shaft as it grows to fill her.

It twists inside her on each stroke, and her hips circle against her will. It pushes in and pours out of her in rhythm, and his eyes are on her the whole time. At his command the smoke undulates inside her again, and—at that—she breaks.

She slides over the edge and plummets into orgasm, a wave of absolute, thought-rending pleasure from the top of her head to her toes desperately seeking purchase against the mattress as the magic drives into her again and again, lengthening her peak.

She calls his name in a babble of multilingual, guttural curses.

Later, when she’s loose-limbed and lethargic—curled into Percy and hazy though the smoke has long disappeared, he presses his lips to her forehead.

“Just you."

**Author's Note:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯  
> [considermehacked](http://considermehacked.tumblr.com/) on tumblr


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